


One Cut

by Honeydieuu



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeydieuu/pseuds/Honeydieuu
Summary: This is just a brief short story that I wrote to act as a partial backstory for my first D&D character, Thorin Ironfist.  Being a nearly 400 year old dwarven mercenary, there have been many stories throughout his life that have shaped him in different ways.  I had been planning to write this for months before I actually wrote it, and it's one of the stories that I'm the most proud of having written.  This is also my first time ever posting any of my writing publicly so, please go easy on me in the comments if you read this?  I would love constructive criticism but please do it with the intent of saying "your writing could be better if ____" instead of "your writing is bad because of ____".  Anyway, please enjoy!
Kudos: 3





	One Cut

Over the past 100 or years of his life, Thorin Ironfist had made a name for himself as one of the deadliest mercenaries in all of the lands. Any job that he took, he made damn sure that he saw it all the way through, and then some. What made him even more legendary than that was what he asked in return for his handiwork: nothing at all. He would describe being able to protect entire kingdoms of starving and innocent people through acts of obscene violence against those who cared more about their wallets than their subjects to be one of life’s simple pleasures. That and Argonian ale.  
“Are you seriously writing about yourself again, Ironfist?” The voice cut like a knife through Thorin’s deep concentration in his work. Thorin glanced up toward his door and met the just slightly condescending gaze of Berda Shurgal, a very tall half-orc woman that seemed to enjoy nothing more than picking on him whenever she got the chance. Of course, he had been writing about himself, but it would save him from a very exasperating conversation if he just did his best to ignore her.  
“Who the hell’s business is it what I do with my own damn free time, Berda.” He shot back, brushing her out of the way as he exited his bedroom and made his way to the kitchen.  
“Oh, well no one’s really,” she replied. “I just want to be able to say I knew you before you made it big! Are you going for Neverwinter Time’s #1 Best Seller?  
Thorin turned around on a dime and pulled his steel dagger from it’s sheath along his belt in a single motion, pointing the knife up at Berda. “You say one more useless word and I’ll have another chapter to add.”  
She stared past the knife right at Thorin with a slim smile on her face. “I’m sure that haphazardly slashing at my legs with your widdle baby bwade’s gonna bring in a lot more readers, Ironfist. Besides, with all the shit you’ve gotten up to in the past, I think you’ve got enough material for a whole trilogy already.”  
“Are you two done?” A voice called from the kitchen. “I get you don’t like each other that much, but can it please wait until after breakfast?” Thorin reluctantly lowered his blade back into its sheath and turned away from Berda. He sat down at the table and looked up at his other crew mate for this specific job. While he didn’t know much about Berda, he knew everything about Elyon Gilceran. Hell, who in his line of work didn’t know everything about Elyon?  
He was the man who single handedly assassinated King Byron Lordfell, and freed over ten thousand people from his tyrannical rule. Stories like that would be passed around in guild halls just about every night about the great Elyon Gilceran. He was one of the most legendary mercenaries in the world, and Thorin had managed to find himself on a job with him.  
Raiding the vault would go toward being one of the biggest achievements in Thorin’s career. He thought it impossible that this would do anything other than make him one of the most famous thieves in the world.  
He really did find it hard not to show his appreciation for Elyon’s inspiring work at any chance he got, he was just so profoundly skilled at whatever he h-  
“You’re staaaaring,” Berda whispered in a sing-songy tone. He was so entranced that he hadn’t even noticed she was sitting there. She had taken her seat across from Thorin at the table, and had a front row seat to the unique expressions that Thorin only ever makes in Elyon’s presence.  
“Why is it that you insist on having her on this job, Gilceran? This shouldn’t require more than just the two of us. Besides, I have plenty of former crew mates that are less…”  
“Gods, Thorin, for the last time. We’re breaking into what is probably the most secure vaults in Knightstone Landing, and Berda is the tallest and strongest person that I know. Plus, I trust her with my life. She stays.” Elyon slid two plates of food across the table, and placed one down delicately at his own spot, sitting down like he was living in the height of luxury.  
Thorin gave Elyon and Berda contemptuous glares, but he knew he wasn’t going to win this fight. “Fine. Let’s just go over the plan one more time.”  
Elyon took a bite out of one of his pre-cut apple slices. “Of course, Thorin. Like I’ve been saying, it really is a simple plan. First -”

Two Days Later

“THIS IS NOT THE PLAN, GILCERAN. THIS IS ABSOLUTELY NOT THE PLAN.” Thorin was making his running approach toward one of the heavily armored vault guards when he was sidelined by another guard rushing forward with a shield. He looked upward, slightly dazed from the impact to see Berda crush the guards helmet, his head still inside, with her steel mace, that was about as tall as Thorin himself.  
“Who cares if this isn’t the plan? I’m having the time of my life!” She cried out.  
Thorin felt an easing presence at his side, and he felt any semblance of having been recently run over by a 3 foot long iron shield leave himself. He glanced over to see Elyon kneeling next to him, his hands glowing a protective shade of green. “We can’t have you out of the fight just yet,” Elyon smiled. Without breaking eye contact he drew back his glistening bow and fired an arrow through the eye slit in one of the guard’s masks. “There’s probably still about thirty more guards.”  
Thorin got up off the ground, using his axe for support, while quickly realizing that he didn’t actually need it to get back up. That healing magic was really potent stuff. “Well, I knew you weren’t keeping me around ‘cause you liked me.” Thorin rushed up to the guard that Elyon had just half-blinded, and swung his axe cleanly through their torso.  
“Oh please, Thorin. Nothing could be further from the truth.”  
The three fought on for what felt like hours, until finally, the last guard had fallen. The clatter of his helmet echoing throughout the dungeon that housed the vault.  
“Oh come on!” Berda proclaimed, “I was just starting to work up a sweat!” She walked over to Thorin, knelt down, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I count sixteen.”  
“Sixteen what.”  
“Sixteen guards, that’s how many of them I killed. How about you?”  
“I wasn’t aware that we were counting.”  
Gerda scoffed and shoved Thorin’s shoulder, nearly knocking him over. “Guess that means I win.”  
“Juvenile though it may seem,” Elyon interrupted, “I believe that I got seventeen.” Gerda’s self-satisfied smile quickly faded as she huffed away. The three approached the large vault door together, with Elyon in the front. The door appeared to have no kind of mechanism with which it opened, it just looked like a huge metal wall carved into a rock wall. Elyon reached out his hand and touched the vault door. His eyes began to glow in the reflection on the door and he spoke one word. “Open.”  
The vault door proceeded to obey his command, as it lifted about 15 feet off the ground, partially into the cave’s ceiling far above their heads.  
“How did you…” Thorin began to ask, but his voice trailed off as Elyon and Berda walked into the vault. Putting his irrelevant question aside, he followed the two into the unlit vault. He figured that any questions he had could be answered later, after this job was finally done.  
Once all three of them were inside, two things happened at exactly the same time. Thorin heard the vault door crash shut behind him, and the lights inside the vault ignited, revealing what was contained inside: a pile of gold pieces higher than the eye could see.  
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Thorin?” Elyon asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “What you see before you is possibly the greatest collection of wealth this side of Neverwinter.” Elyon let a small chuckle betray his demeanor. “And every single gold piece is mine.”  
Thorin thought nothing of the statement, he had seen people fantasize over wealth countless times, this wasn’t any different. He walked up beside Elyon to look over the haul with him. “Well, this was a three person job, Gilceran. Three people, three cuts.”  
Elyon again chuckled to himself at this. “Of course. How could I forget your cut.” Then, blisteringly fast, he slid his dragonbone dagger out from it’s sheathe upon his belt, and slashed Thorin across the face, leaving a thick red gash from just beneath his cheek, up to his forehead, clean through the center of his eye.  
Thorin fell backwards to the ground, feeling a variety of emotions; Betrayal, fear, heartbreak, but most of all, rage.  
“When I say something is mine, Ironfist, I mean that it is mine. And what is mine, is nobody else’s. Do you know how I knew this was ‘the greatest collection of wealth this side of Neverwinter?’” he prodded.  
Thorin didn’t respond.  
“It’s because it’s my collection of wealth. It has been for years. I wanted you to see it before you died. It’s amazing what stories you can get people to tell about you for the right price. This world only has room for one hero, Thorin. It’s sad really. Even though I allowed you to get this close, the world will never see you as anything other than a pathetic failure.”  
Berda walked over to Thorin’s limp body, and lifted him in the air by the collar of his shirt with one hand. Berda looked over at Elyon, “I know you said you wanted him to bleed out, but I really wanna kill ‘im, boss.”  
“If you insist, Berda. And please, don’t make it quick. I want him to feel it right until the end.”  
Berda looked back at Thorin and her grin of pride quickly turned into an expression of rage as she realized that not only had Thorin drawn his dagger, he had stabbed it through her wrist. She instinctively released her grip on Thorin, and he acted in that fraction of a second.  
Thorin pulled himself toward Berda, along with the knife cleaving through her arm, and tore the knife out only to implant it firmly through her chin, and up through her mouth. Thorin dropped down to the ground, followed by Berda’s corpse ceremoniously colliding with the ground. Thorin found himself staring eye to eye with Elyon, and was completely and totally enveloped with a bloodlusted rage. “She should have made it quick.”  
The next moments of Thorin’s life were entirely dictated by that very rage. He had been used to overcoming enemies with sheer brute force, but Elyon was more dexterous than his past adversaries. It seemed that he was already evading Thorin’s attacks before Thorin could even make them. The fight went on for several minutes, without Thorin landing a single blow. Of course, Elyon had been a bit more lucky. Thorin had three arrows from Elyon’s bow implanted in various places around his body.  
Knowing that he was on his last legs, Thorin gave it one final hail mary. With all his remaining might, he hurled his axe toward Elyon, just barely to his left side.  
Thinking this was a mistake on Thorin’s part, Elyon made a fatal flaw and dodged, almost happily, to his right. He didn’t have time to realize that Thorin was already upon him, his knife buried deep in his stomach.  
Thorin pressed on, tackling Elyon to the ground. Then, he unleashed punch after punch after punch onto Elyon’s head, just beginning to relent once he could feel his bloody and broken fist making contact with the stone floor, underneath the pile of bones, flesh, and blood that once held together his head.  
Finally rising off the ground, he took one last look at Elyon’s mountain of gold, and walked out of the vault. When he returned to Knightstone Landing, he told the truth about Elyon Gilceran to the local newspaper, and he slipped in the exact location of the underground vault, prime for the looting of anybody that needed it.


End file.
